𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓

Chapter 13

Mother Knows Best

Chapter Thirteen

Digging Up Graves

"Do you know what the policy is on drugs at this institution, Harry?"

Harry had no idea. He had been sitting in this chair long enough to render his ass completely numb and most of these questions were starting to run together now. Looming just over his shoulder like an anxious vulture waiting for him to expire, Snape looked like he was receiving great pleasure from watching him squirm. Harry felt compelled to tell him the reason he was squirming was because his foot had fallen asleep about an hour after he got there and he was trying to avoid another meeting with the floor for the second time in a span of no more than ten hours when he chose to stand up. Or whenever the hell he was permitted to do so.

He was thankful that Dumbledore was seemingly taking it easy on him with his kind tone and familar offering of sweets, but in combination with Snape's sadistic and rude responces to anything Harry had to say, this whole thing felt like a really crappy PG version of good cop-bad cop. Harry was lucky, though, that neither of them had yet inquired about his split lip. He couldn't exactly say it was very surprising because, in light of the current situation, it just wasn't that important to mention.

When he first arrived after seeing Narcissa off, Dumbledore was quick to call Snape into his office and after Harry came back after giving them a moment to speak alone, he took a seat and wrote out his take on the situation and guilty confession on the paper the Headmaster had given him. It was as vague as he could manage it, not wanting to give away unnecessary information that could get him into even more trouble than he was already in. After that, he settled in to answer question after meaningless question, most of which could've been answered correctly or answered at all by referring to the Rules and Regulations pamphlet he had never bothered to read.

He actually felt Snape tense when he answered with a feeble, "Not really, sir."

"No. Tolerance. Potter," Snape grounded out, suppressing the urge to smack the boy upside his head. "You learn that in kindergarten. It means when a student is caught with drugs on campus, they get expelled."

The over-simplification was a blatant jab on his intelligence and Harry asked himself for the umpteenth time why the man couldn't just wait outside until this (whatever this was) was over with. He didn't know the answer to that, but he did manage to find out the answer to another question he'd been wondering since the day he met Snape; if the man hated children, why did he work with them? The answer was simple; Snape was a sadistic prick who lived to torture innocent children.

"I didn't-"

"No, you didn't, did you?" Snape interrupted. Harry wondered if the man was psychic. "You only brought drugs into the Academy, broke into a fellow students private room and got said student expelled all over some childish little squabble."

Harry muttered something unintelligible about how nobody uses the word squabble anymore, but other than that he chose not to respond. He had been wondering, though, how Snape had found out about that. He knew the man couldn't know it involved Draco in any way, otherwise Harry was sure Snape would've confronted his godson about it by now. And even if it could grant him some from of testimony, he was determined to keep Draco's name completely out of this.

Dumbledore sighed, glancing down at his watch in what was probably meant to be in a imperceptible manner before raising his glasses a bit to pinch the bridge of his nose. It looked like he was out of meaningless questions and was scrounging his brain for another.